


Suo Gân

by cheshireArcher



Category: 14th Century CE RPF, Henry IV Part 1 - Shakespeare
Genre: All fluff and happiness and cuteness, Anachronism but who cares, Babies, Birth, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Lullabies, New Parents, Seriously All Fluff, Shmoop, welsh - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 21:28:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9787691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheshireArcher/pseuds/cheshireArcher
Summary: Kate didn't expect Hotspur would like being a father all that much. He was of course preoccupied with war, and he was a rough soldier that needed reminding to be gentle. He of course would need an heir since he was in line to inherit Northumberland himself, but that didn't mean he'd be INTERESTED in that heir.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Since I've been writing a great deal of sad Katespur/Hotspur in general, here's a fic that's just one big pile of shmoop (do people even still use that term?) As usual I am not responsible for any cavities caused by how sweet this is, it's your own fault for not brushing.

Kate didn't expect Hotspur would like being a father all that much. He was of course preoccupied with war, and he was a rough soldier that needed reminding to be gentle. He of course would need an heir since he was in line to inherit Northumberland himself, but that didn't mean he'd be INTERESTED in that heir.

Kate became pregnant two years into their marriage. Hotspur was absent so often that the enterprise was rarely engaged in, and this came as a surprise-- and a joyous one. Kate of course knew the risks, but something kept her optimistic. She'd be fine.

"Can I get you anything?" 

"No, thank you, though."

"Are you feeling well? Are you sick?"

"Better than this morning."

"Good. Are you hungry?"

"No."

"Would you like me to-"

"I'm FINE, Harry." 

That continued on for nine months. Hotspur, loyal knight that he was, proved to be very attentive. To the point of overprotective and annoying. He didn't want to leave her side, except to do something for her, and Kate had to send him on (largely useless) errands to keep him off her back, but she appreciated the care all the same. 

Henry Percy the Younger arrived about a week before Kate's own birthday, early in a particularly cold February. He was such a tiny thing, crying as loud as his shouty father, and with a soft tuft of reddish hair that marked him a Percy. His mother held him close, gently whispering to him in Welsh. He squirmed, restless like his father, and she smiled. Babies don't look like much, but when a new parent insists their baby is cute even when it isn't, it's because the child means the world to them-- and that's the beautiful part. And Kate now understood that.

The midwife finally admitted Hotspur, who looked like he had been in a downright panic. Kate's heart sank for a moment because she knew the cause of the panic. But all was well. She smiled and Hotspur seemed to relax slightly. 

"Want to meet your son?"

"Son?" Hotspur said. He could barely stammer the words out. "A boy? I have-- you--  wu-wu-we have a son?"

The midwife had apparently neglected to tell him. Kate giggled. "Yes. A boy." 

Hotspur came closer, then sat down carefully on the edge of the bed. He looked at Kate, then down at the baby. He ran one tentative finger over the baby's hair, gently. "W-welcome, Henry," he said. "Can I hold him?" 

Kate carefully deposited Henry in his father's arms, rearranging his hands so that he supported him properly. 

"Shhhh..." Hotspur whispered when Henry began to squirm and voice his displeasure at being somewhere other than his mother's arms. He'd just been handed to someone other than mama and he didn't know what to do with this new development.

Kate felt her heart swell when she saw big, dumb, rough Harry Hotspur holding his baby, rocking him and trying to soothe him with the same clumsy tenderness he gave the baby's mother. "L-look at you... my strong l-little boy..." There was no sight more beautiful in the world.

"Hush," Hotspur said, the quietest Kate had ever heard him. "I'm your daddy." He stroked the little patch of hair again and when he took his hand away, Henry grasped his father's finger. "Look!" Hotspur gasped, directing Kate's attention to their son's hand clasped with his. Kate saw that he had a tear in his eye-- Hotspur, crying. At a baby. She knew the last time he'd cried was at the end of the Song of Roland, which did him in every time.

Hotspur finally returned the baby to Kate, since he couldn't get him to stop fussing.

"W-why don't you sing to him," he suggested.

Kate wracked her memory for a lullaby-- some verse-- anything for him. Finally the words came to her, the same song her nurse had sung for her when she was a tiny fussy baby.

_" Huna blentyn ar fy mynwes_  
Clyd a chynnes ydyw hon;  
Breichiau mam sy'n dynn amdanat,  
Cariad mam sy dan fy mron;  
Ni chaiff dim amharu'th gyntun,  
Ni wna undyn â thi gam;  
Huna'n dawel, annwyl blentyn,  
Huna'n fwyn ar fron dy fam." 

Hotspur smiled and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Her voice was as beautiful as she was, she was so perfect.

She struggled with the next verse, the words slipping from her mind. She really needed to practice it more or she'd lose what little Welsh she already had. 

"Sleep," Hotspur whispered. "Sleep, my lovely boy."

That triggered her memory.

_"Huna'n dawel, heno, huna,_  
Huna'n fwyn, y tlws ei lun;  
Pam yr wyt yn awr yn gwenu,  
Gwenu'n dirion yn dy hun?  
Ai angylion fry sy'n gwenu,  
Arnat ti yn gwenu'n llon,  
Tithau'n gwenu'n ôl dan huno,  
Huno'n dawel ar fy mron?" 

Henry finally fell asleep, warm and safe with his parents. Hotspur carefully put him in the cradle, humming the melody as he remembered it. He turned back to Kate and sat down on the bed, this time properly on it, and he kissed her. "I love you," he said, taking her hand. 

"I love you, Harry." 

He sighed and curled up next to her, careful not to agitate her still sore body. They looked over at their sleeping son, both proud and filled with love. The Percy family would grow.

Harry fell asleep there next to her, she gently stroking his hair before she too was pulled into sleep.

_Paid ag ofni, dim ond deilen_  
Gura, gura ar y ddôr;  
Paid ag ofni, ton fach unig  
Sua, sua ar lan y môr;  
Huna blentyn, nid oes yma  
Ddim i roddi iti fraw;  
Gwena'n dawel yn fy mynwes  
Ar yr engyl gwynion draw. 

**Author's Note:**

> The lullaby is Suo Gân, a traditional Welsh lullaby. I majorly cheated here, since its first recording is in 1800 but who cares.
> 
> Translation: 
> 
>  
> 
> Sleep child upon my bosom  
> It is cosy and warm;  
> Mother's arms are tight around you,  
> A mother's love is in my breast;  
> Nothing shall disturb your slumber,  
> Nobody will do you harm;  
> Sleep in peace, dear child,  
> Sleep quietly on your mother's breast.
> 
> Sleep peacefully tonight, sleep;  
> Gently sleep, my lovely;  
> Why are you now smiling,  
> Smiling gently in your sleep?  
> Are angels above smiling on you,  
> As you smile cheerfully,  
> Smiling back and sleeping,  
> Sleeping quietly on my breast?
> 
> Do not fear, it is nothing but a leaf  
> Beating, beating on the door;  
> Do not fear, only a small wave  
> Murmurs, murmurs on the seashore;  
> Sleep child, there's nothing here  
> Nothing to give you fright;  
> Smile quietly in my bosom,  
> On the blessed angels yonder.
> 
> A recording: https://youtu.be/eWWXp7_cHcM


End file.
